


'cause my heart ain't got enough

by dragongirlG



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Bottom Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Dubious Consent, Embedded Images, Hopeful Ending, Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Porn, Rough Sex, Service Top, Spit As Lube, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirlG/pseuds/dragongirlG
Summary: Captain America disappears during an Avengers mission in Lagos gone awry. Bucky, who's been recovering his memories in Bucharest, goes to the Avengers facility in New York to investigate. After surrendering himself to the Avengers' custody, Bucky wakes up to see Steve Rogers at his bedside—small, like he never got the serum. Things quickly get heated as Bucky gives in to the instinct to take care of Steve whichever way Steve wants, regardless of who's watching.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 26
Kudos: 379
Collections: MCU Kinkbang 2020





	'cause my heart ain't got enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fondblondie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fondblondie/gifts).



> Welcome to my MCU Kink Bang 2020 collaboration! Many thanks to fondblondie for their AMAZING art and to the mods for organizing this event! Also, a huge thank you to [cloudycelebrations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudycelebrations) for their outstanding beta work; this story would not be nearly as smutty without their input.
> 
> Title from Dua Lipa's "Genesis," which you can listen to [here](https://youtu.be/nAQ77H7Fzfw).
> 
> **Please note the tag for dubious consent; while Bucky and Steve both agree to engage in sex, Bucky is not completely sure of the motivation behind his own actions.**

Bucky is in Bucharest when the news reaches him, the headline blaring at him from the dusty front page:

> AVENGERS WREAK HAVOC IN LAGOS; CAPTAIN AMERICA DISAPPEARS

A tremor runs through his body, and he clenches his gloved hand tight around the flimsy plastic bag carrying his daily supply of fruit. It takes him a moment to realize—with resigned surprise—that his mind automatically translated the words from Romanian to English. Just another one of HYDRA’s parting gifts, he supposes. At least this one’s relatively beneficial.

He buys the newspaper and a couple of Fritt Karamell bars, tucks them into his inner jacket pocket, then takes a long, circuitous route back to his apartment, keeping his body language casual and unconcerned when he feels anything but. As soon as he’s locked the door behind him and run his usual checks, he slumps down onto the couch and pulls the newspaper out, taking a deep breath before beginning to read. 

Most of the article is speculation, but Bucky is able to glean the facts well enough: The Avengers were in Lagos trying to recover a specimen stolen from the Institute for Infectious Diseases. The ensuing fight ended up destroying a local street market. Captain America was caught in an explosion from a suicide bomber and disappeared. Scarlet Witch ended up sending the explosion into a nearby building with her powers. Twenty-six people in the building died, including eleven relief aid workers from Wakanda.

The government of Wakanda was calling for justice, and so was the government of Nigeria; the United States government had yet to respond. The Avengers had given a brief official statement expressing their deepest regret for the casualties, and then they’d gone dark. There was no word on Captain America’s whereabouts. 

Bucky exhales on a long, slow breath, forcing himself to relax his shoulders. He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head into his hands and clutching his hair. A tight knot of worry forms in his gut. Steve can’t be dead, or vaporized, or whatever ridiculous conjecture the media is throwing out there; the Avengers would have just said so, right? “Disappeared” could mean anything. Incapacitated, maybe, injured in some way. Abducted. But not killed. 

He has to believe that, because the other possibility is—too much. 

The journal he grabs flips open naturally to the flyer of the Captain America exhibit he took from the Smithsonian. The glossy paper ’s starting to lose its color from how many times he’s thumbed over it, thinking, pondering—obsessing over his piecemeal memories of Steve. 

Bucky’s written down every single image, sound, smell, taste, and phantom touch that reminds him of their life together, but there are still so many gaps. He can’t remember their first kiss, for one, though he knows they had a covert sexual relationship prior to the war. It was sexual—that he’s certain of—but whether it was romantic is another question entirely. He can barely fathom what love means nowadays—all he knows is that Steve must have it for him in spades, if his behavior on the helicarrier is anything to go by. 

Bucky’s metal arm catches a ray of sunlight leaking in from the newspaper-covered windows. He stares at it, his gut churning. The arm doesn’t have that much sensation, but he can still recall the rapid-fire pressure change in the knuckle joints when Steve’s cheekbones cracked under them. He hadn’t felt satisfied, exactly—no, he’d been angry, confused, _desperate_ . He’d just wanted Steve to _stop_. And Steve hadn’t—not until the beam under him cracked and gravity had pulled him into the water. Bucky had followed, an alarm in his brain shrieking even more loudly than the metal collapsing around him—and only when Steve took a breath on the dirty riverbank did his mind go silent.

Maybe that means some part of Bucky still loves Steve, too. Most days Bucky tries not to think too hard about it.

He snaps the journal shut and paces around the apartment restlessly, the newspaper headline catching his eye no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He’s not ready to see Steve yet—that’s what he keeps telling himself, that’s why he keeps running. He keeps waiting to wake up one day and think, _I’m ready to be Bucky Barnes again. I’m ready to be Steve Rogers’ best friend._ But that day hasn’t come in almost two years—and it probably never will, if he’s honest with himself. And now Steve’s in trouble and—

And Bucky will never forgive himself if he doesn’t try to help. 

With a sigh, Bucky digs out his go-bag from underneath the floorboards and begins to pack up, giving each item he’s leaving behind a light goodbye touch: the threadbare sofa and red throw pillow he rescued from the curb, his frayed towels with their bright colors, his tall lamp with the warm but flickering glow; his favorite yellow bowl and his mismatched assortment of mugs. It’s a wrench to leave them all behind—he’s been settling into this apartment nicely, hasn’t broken any furniture or dishes or punched any walls in a nightmare-fueled fit. Still, needs must; the most precious items in the apartment are the journals in his backpack, and he’s taking them all along with his duffel bag full of weapons.

He shoulders his bags and gives the apartment one last look, then shuts the door behind him and disappears into the city.

* * *

It takes him five days to get to New York.

He goes to Avengers Tower in Manhattan first, shaking his head about how its public address was a huge security breach, only to find cleanup crows clearing out a pile of rubble. _Damn it._ He’d forgotten—he’d read about the havoc wreaked by Ultron, had even been near Sokovia when it happened, but he’d also been busy trying to screw his head on straight. After he’d read that Steve was okay, he’d gone back to focusing on his recovery and hadn’t bothered following up on the fallout.

No matter, he thinks, as he catches sight of the chrome and steel behemoth, rising up out of the woods in upstate New York. The Avengers must have built a new facility away from prying eyes. It’s probably loaded with hidden, high-tech security, which means it’s probably impossible to get into, unless…

Bucky’s eyes roam around until he finds what he’s looking for. There. Standing sentry at the side of the building is Sam Wilson, fully suited up in his Falcon gear. Even from this distance he looks exhausted. 

Bucky takes a deep breath and makes sure his backpack is strapped tight around his chest. Then he adjusts the weight of his duffel and approaches slowly. 

Wilson points a gun at him as soon as Bucky gets into his line of sight. “Fuck! This is just what we need.” He presses a hand to his ear. “Gonna need a fuck ton of backup out here—especially Natasha, ASAP. Thanks, yeah, _now_.”

Bucky drops his duffel bag and holds his hands up. “I came to help.”

Wilson’s eyes narrow suspiciously behind his red-tinted goggles. “Help with what?”

“I heard Steve—” Bucky swallows the lump in his throat. “Is—is he okay?”

Wilson presses his lips together. The other Avengers descend upon them, and Bucky surrenders quietly, letting them strip him of everything but his clothes, although he resists the tiniest bit when Natasha Romanoff takes his backpack.

“What’s in here?” she asks.

“Nothing harmful,” Bucky answers. “Just—keep it safe. Please.”

She gives him a suspicious frown before cuffing his hands behind his back. The cuffs are thick and magnetic, similar to those used by HYDRA, and he wonders briefly if they came from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s stock while HYDRA was still an influence there. It seems likely.

Wilson and Romanoff escort him into the bowels of the building, and James Rhodes follows in his Iron Patriot suit. Bucky notices that Iron Man and Scarlet Witch are missing but decides not to comment. He’s herded into a small tiled bathroom with a showerhead and sink, at which point Romanoff unlocks the cuffs and peels away with Bucky’s backpack and duffel bag in tow. 

Bucky takes a shower with lukewarm water and a sliver of soap while Rhodes and Wilson stand guard outside. He’s a little surprised to find Wilson handing him a clean set of clothes that someone must have pulled from his backpack. 

“Thanks,” says Bucky quietly, clutching the towel around his waist. His old clothes, which he’d left outside the door, are gone.

A flicker of surprise passes across Wilson’s face. “You’re welcome.”

Bucky closes the door and changes into his worn Henley and sweatpants. He scrubs his hair dry as much as he can with his damp towel, then gulps some water down from the tap. There’s no mirror in which he can check his reflection, but he hopes he looks somewhat human after cleaning up, even with two days’ worth of stubble and a constantly broken sleep schedule.

The cell next to the bathroom consists of bare but polished concrete. It’s illuminated by caged fluorescent lights installed in high ceilings. In the corner is a single cot bolted to the floor. A blanket and pillow lie on top. The door has a low slot for food and a frosted window likely serving as a one-way mirror. 

Rhodes says, “You’ll get three meals a day along with three bathroom breaks, and we’ll dim the lights at sunset to try to give you a normal sleep cycle. We’re monitoring you for health and for security reasons, but if you need anything, just knock on the window twice. Understood?”

Bucky nods. 

“Please don’t try to break anything,” Wilson adds. 

Bucky frowns at him. “I won’t.”

He waits until the door has shut before sighing and heading toward the cot. He throws the blanket over it and lies on top, staring at the ceiling. It’s surprisingly comfortable, but it does nothing to alleviate his anxiety over Steve’s current status. Wilson hadn’t even mentioned if Steve was alive.

He must fall asleep at some point, because when he next opens his eyes, the lights are at 25% brightness—and someone is standing right next to him. 

Bucky jerks upright. “Steve?”

Steve gives him a small smile. “Hey, Buck. It’s good to see you.”

Bucky grunts, rubbing his eyes. Steve is small again, floppy blond hair and sharp elbows and a gaze so intense it could bore a hole through a wall. He’s wearing a bright blue long-sleeved T-shirt, red sweatpants, and thick fluffy socks with a polka dot pattern. His cozy outfit looks totally incongruous in the bare cell. 

Bucky frowns, blinks hard, and takes a quick glance at his left arm. It’s still metal. 

“You’re not dreaming,” Steve answers before Bucky has time to even formulate the question. Steve leans on the side of the cot, completely disregarding the fact that Bucky could kill him in half a second. His eyes are bright. “I heard you were asking about me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says slowly. “Are you okay?”

Steve makes a face. “Well, it was a shock finding myself in this body. But I’m still alive. And modern medicine does wonders.” He shrugs. “I can’t complain.”

“What happened? I read there was a suicide bomber—”

Steve’s expression darkens. “Rumlow.”

Bucky starts. He knows that name. Rumlow had been his primary handler on the field.

Steve’s expression darkens further, and his throat works for a minute. “He...distracted me and blew himself up. The blast didn’t actually touch me thanks to Wanda, but Rumlow set off some other weapon at the same time that depowered the serum and knocked me right out. The team found me unconscious inside the Captain America uniform and took me back here right away.”

Bucky breathes out slowly. “Did it hurt?”

Steve’s mouth quirks up into a half-grin. “Probably. I don’t actually remember.”

“And—is it permanent?”

Steve’s grin widens. “For now. We’re working on it.”

Bucky blinks at Steve, puzzled. “Are you happy about this?”

The grin drops off Steve’s face. Bucky’s heart twinges; he’d liked seeing it. Steve’s voice is quiet as he says, “Not exactly. It’s just—you said the same thing to me after I first got the serum.”

Bucky bites his lip and casts around in his mind, trying to remember. He distantly remembers lying on Zola’s table, burning hot with what he’d thought was fever, and seeing Steve above him like an avenging angel. He remembers thinking he was in hell, running beyond the limits of exhaustion, fire and explosions and a demon with a red face—the Red Skull. But he can’t remember what words he and Steve exchanged, although Steve clearly does; Steve’s serum gave him an eidetic memory, Bucky recalls, though Bucky’s apparently didn’t. (Or perhaps Bucky’s brain was fried too many times for that to develop. He doesn’t think he’d want one, anyway.)

“Buck?” says Steve. 

Bucky gives him an apologetic look. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” says Steve. Bucky knows he’s lying by the way his eyes flicker to the side, but that’s not a discussion Bucky wants to get into right now. He’s still overwhelmed by the fact Steve’s even here. Speaking of which…

“Why aren’t you sleeping right now?” he asks Steve, frowning again. 

Steve shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “I wanted to see you.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yeah.” Steve grimaces. “Sorry. I’d have come sooner, but everyone was against it and I...we had to talk through it as a team. They’re the only ones who know that I’m back in this body, and there was some, uh, disagreement about whether it’d be a good idea to tell you.”

“What did you end up deciding?” Bucky asks. Steve seems to be the leader of the Avengers, but he’s curious to know how much say the other team members have. Romanoff and Wilson certainly seem like they might have strong opinions. Stark, too. 

“We didn’t actually come to an agreement,” says Steve, cheeks flushing.

Bucky huffs. “You’re not supposed to be in here, are you?” Steve ducks his head, and Bucky sighs. “Well, it’s not like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“Damn right it hasn’t.” Steve pauses and looks up, brow furrowed. “You, uh, you remember that?”

“That you’re a reckless punk that won’t listen to anyone when you think you’re doing the right thing?”

Steve makes a small, strangled sound in his throat. “Yeah.”

Bucky laughs softly. “I was able to glean some of that from my Swiss cheese memories. Filled in some gaps by visiting the Smithsonian. Can’t say I have a lot of the specifics, but I know you marched across enemy lines to go rescue a bunch of POWs, including myself. I know you used to get into a bunch of back alley brawls trying to defend people who were getting harassed, and I know I pulled you out of them. I know we—” 

Bucky shuts his mouth and shakes his head. He’s not sure he wants to bring it up, but it’s too late: Steve is like a dog with a bone when he’s got something he cares about. 

“We what, Buck?” Steve asks softly. 

Bucky shifts, suddenly nervous. He supposes there’s no point in hiding it, and he never could resist Steve’s questions. “I remembered that we...uh, were involved. Before. Sexually.”

Steve nods, jaw tight.

“And…” Bucky steels himself. “We loved each other? Romantically?” Part of him is still unsure. 

Steve makes a small, choked noise, fists clenching at his sides. “Yeah. Uh. Yeah, to both of those.” 

A long, charged silence passes between them. Bucky holds himself still, flushing under Steve’s gaze, which is fixed on Bucky’s face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. 

“Bucky,” Steve finally whispers, “Could I—” He stiffly places his hand on the edge of the cot. “Could I just—”

It takes a moment for Bucky to catch on to what Steve wants. Following his gut instinct, he scoots to the side and stretches out his right arm, keeping his metal one tucked against the wall. He takes a minute to gather his resolve, then pats the space next to him on the cot. “Come here, Steve.” 

Steve hesitates. “Buck, you don’t have to—I don’t want to pressure you into anything—”

“I know. I want to. Come here.”

Steve shuts his mouth and climbs onto the cot, gingerly leaning back against Bucky’s arm. Bucky skims his fingers along Steve’s skinny bicep, and Steve makes a small, soft noise, wiggling closer until his side is flush against Bucky’s. His hair tickles Bucky’s chin as he rests his head on Bucky’s chest, the tension leaching out of his limbs.

Warmth blossoms in Bucky’s heart, unfurling like a flower too long deprived of sunlight, and he lets himself relax, taking in the scent of Steve’s hair, the feeling of Steve’s weight against his own. He remembers this now: huddling close, breathing soft and slow, simply being together in a world that wanted to separate them.

“How have you been, Buck?” Steve asks after a long silence. His voice is soft. “It’s been a while.”

Bucky sighs. “I’m—” He opens his mouth and closes it. “I’ve been getting back on my feet.”

“You—you’ve been taking care of yourself?” asks Steve, naked concern in his voice. “Eating, and sleeping, and staying somewhere safe?”

“Yeah, Steve,” says Bucky. “I’ve been trying to do all those things. Mostly succeeding, too.”

“Okay,” Steve murmurs. “Okay. That’s good.”

“You been doing the same for yourself?”

Steve sighs. There’s a trace of bitterness in his tone as he replies, “How can I not? Ever since I got back into this body, I’ve—” He cuts off abruptly, shaking his head as his jaw tightens.

Bucky frowns. “What is it?”

Steve blows out a breath. He curls his knees up to his chest, resting his palms on his knees. “My friends aren’t used to seeing me like this. And sometimes that means they get...overprotective.”

Bucky gingerly squeezes Steve’s shoulder, trying to give him comfort.

Steve sighs. “I know that they’re worried. But I’m not an invalid just because parts of my body don’t want to play nice sometimes.” The words ping something in Bucky’s brain, but before he can figure out what memory they’re attached to, Steve says softly, “You rarely treated me differently even when it was obvious I couldn’t keep up, even in bed. I never got a chance to tell you how much I appreciated that.”

“You’re telling me now,” Bucky points out.

Steve huffs a laugh. “Guess I am.” He stills for a moment, then twists around and sits back on his heels, his expression serious. “Bucky—I don’t want to pressure you into anything. We don’t have to go back to being...what we were. We can just be friends.” Steve’s expression tightens. “Or acquaintances, or even strangers, if that’s what you want. It’s your call.”

Bucky frowns. “ _My_ call? What about what you want?”

Steve lifts his chin stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve had enough choices taken from you. I’m not going to take away another one.”

“Steve,” Bucky sighs. “I don’t know a lot these days, but all the soap operas I’ve watched tell me that a relationship is supposed to be decided by two people together, not dictated by one.”

Steve looks like he wants to argue but isn’t sure how. 

Bucky gets the sudden urge to kiss him.

Steve must pick up on it, because something flickers in his eyes. He drops his hands and grips his knees, biting his lip. “Bucky,” he says in a hushed voice, eyes searching Bucky’s face, “what _do_ you want?”

“Hell if I know,” Bucky murmurs. “What do you want, Steve?”

“I want you to kiss me,” Steve says, his voice hoarse. “And then I want—more.”

“Isn’t your team surveilling this cell? If we do anything now, they’ll all see.”

“Let them,” Steve says, a glint in his eye.

“Didn’t know you were an exhibitionist,” says Bucky, grinning.

“Wasn’t till now.” 

“Your team’s not going to think that I’m...doing something untoward, right?”

“I’ll handle them.” Steve bites his lip and looks up at him through his lashes. “Buck, please—”

Bucky moves before he can talk himself out of it further, cupping the back of Steve’s neck with his palm and tugging him forward. He brushes his lips against Steve’s, and that seems like the signal Steve needs: Steve throws his arms over Bucky’s shoulders and opens his mouth, deepening the kiss with his tongue, nipping at Bucky’s lips with his teeth. 

A shudder runs through Bucky as sense-memories wash over him, and he rides their wave, letting them guide his movements: a lick to Steve’s bottom lip, a nip to his earlobe, a small bite on the smooth skin under his jaw. Steve trembles against him, groaning softly, and Bucky tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair and pulls hard. His lips curve into a smile as Steve drops his chin onto Bucky’s shoulder, panting hard.

“Buck,” Steve breathes, flicking his eyes upward; they’re a ring of blue around dilated pupils. “Mark me up. Make me yours again. Don’t hold back; I can take it.” 

Bucky doesn’t bother trying to place where (or when) he’s heard those words before. He dislodges his metal arm from its corner, shaking it out before reaching around and grabbing Steve’s pert ass, hauling him into his lap. Steve groans and straddles him, rocking his hips forward, his cock pressing hard against Bucky’s thigh. Bucky thrusts his tongue into Steve’s mouth, claiming him, and squeezes his ass hard enough to bruise. 

Steve yelps, digging his nails into Bucky’s skin as he grips Bucky’s shoulders and presses himself closer. Heat pools in Bucky’s groin, his own cock fattening up in interest at Steve’s enthusiastic response. This he remembers clearly: it feels good to give Steve what he wants, what he needs, regardless of Bucky’s interest in the same things. 

Words spill out of Bucky’s mouth, released from some dusty old vault in his brain. “You’re a tough little punk, aren’t you?” he whispers into Steve’s ear, sliding his flesh hand up the back of Steve’s shirt. He rakes his nails down Steve’s back—they’re blunt, cut to the quick just before he set off to find the Avengers facility, but they seem to do the trick. Steve whimpers and scrabbles at Bucky’s shoulders, trembling from head to toe. 

Encouraged by those needy sounds, Bucky squeezes Steve’s other ass cheek with his metal hand. “Looking all delicate and fragile, when what you really want is someone to rough you up. Claim you. Isn’t that right?” He dips his fingers into Steve’s waistband, brushing a metal fingertip over Steve’s crack. He pinches the delicate skin at the small of Steve’s back, quick and sharp. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Steve moans. He sounds drunk. “Yes, yes.”

“Tell me what you want, Steve,” says Bucky. He pushes Steve’s pants and briefs down, just enough to expose his ass and cock, and traces a teasing circle over Steve’s crack. With his flesh hand he reaches around and cups Steve’s sac in his palm, wrapping his index finger and thumb around the base of Steve’s cock. He squeezes lightly, and Steve whines, trying to jerk upward. Bucky slaps his ass quickly in warning, and Steve groans, long and low. His cock twitches, spurting pre-cum against the hem of his shirt. 

Bucky feels his eyebrows fly up to his hairline. His pulse is pounding. “What do you want, Steve? Tell me.” When Steve doesn’t respond, Bucky slaps his ass again, darkening the mark already settling into the pale skin. “This?”

Steve moans and buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “More,” he whispers, pushing his ass into Bucky’s palm. “Please.”

Bucky pushes him onto his back and then flips him over onto his stomach, bracketing him in with his forearms. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s sweaty temple, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of sweat as his eyes prickle with hot tears. Over the past two years he’d convinced himself that Steve wouldn’t want him anymore—after all, Steve deserved more than the patchy pieces of his former best friend, who sometimes couldn’t even remember his own name. Of course he had come when he heard Steve might need help—he’d been helpless to resist that call. But when he arrived, he hadn’t even been sure Steve was alive, and he hadn’t held any hope that Steve would want to rekindle whatever relationship they’d had seventy years ago. 

Now Steve’s here under him for the first time in nearly a century—needy, wanting, thirsty for touch, just like in Bucky’s hazy memories. It’s almost like no time has passed at all, like they’re picking up right where they left off, before the draft, the war, the train. Bucky’s not going to waste a second longer. He swipes his hand roughly across his eyes, then roughly tugs Steve’s head back by the hair. 

Steve gasps, wriggling with a soft whimper as Bucky bites at his bared throat. “Buck,” he whimpers.

“Be good and take your clothes off,” Bucky orders, lifting his weight a little to allow Steve to move his limbs. He slides his hand to the back of Steve’s neck and pushes his head down into the blanket, holding it there.

Steve clumsily pushes his pants down to his ankles. He kicks them off along with his socks, then hastily pulls his shirt over his head and drops it onto the floor. The flush in his face has spread all the way across his nape and down the line of his back, highlighted by a light sheen of sweat. 

Bucky’s blood flares with heat at the sight. He takes a moment to strip himself, shivering a little at the sweat cooling on his skin, then grabs Steve’s hips and pulls him up onto his hands and knees. While Bucky stares and tries not to overheat, Steve adjusts his balance pressing into the cot with his palms. Then he arches his back, pushing his ass out toward Bucky. He looks over his shoulder and catches Bucky’s eye, his expression hungry.

“This what you want, Steve?” Bucky whispers, squeezing Steve’s ass with both hands. He wraps his right hand around Steve’s cock, thumbing the wet tip and smearing pre-cum down to the base. He can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but they won’t stop. “You want someone to spank you? Beat you so bad you can’t even sit for a week?”

Steve presses his palms flat against the bed, shaking, lighting something ferociously tender inside Bucky as he watches. “Bucky, pl—”

He swats Steve’s ass with his metal hand before Steve can finish speaking. Steve yelps, his head dropping down as he tries to catch his breath. “More,” he demands in a hoarse voice. “More, Buck, please—make it last—”

Bucky obliges, his blood pulsing hot under his skin and rushing to his cock as Steve gradually unravels under his ministrations. They call to mind a half-formed image which Bucky had initially thought was a dream: Steve, spread across Bucky’s lap, the flickering lamp in their tiny bedroom throwing shadows across his swollen ass, bruised almost purple by the unrelenting wallops of Bucky’s hand. Bucky starts off slow just like he did then, striking the spare but curvy meat of Steve’s ass one cheek at a time, watching as pale pink darkens slowly to a bright, blushing red. Steve moans and wriggles wantonly when Bucky pauses to jerk Scock, once, twice. “That enough, Steve?” he asks, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He nips at the smooth skin of Steve’s shoulder, pressing a hot, wet kiss to his shoulder blade. “You want more?”

“More, Bucky,” Steve slurs into the blanket.

Bucky’s cock twitches against his belly at how much Steve’s been undone by so little. He wraps his flesh hand firmly around Steve’s cock and, in a flash of inspiration, aims his metal palm at the underside of Steve’s ass so it meets his gorgeous, wiry thighs, tantalizingly close to his balls. Steve yelps at the first slap, looking back abruptly so Bucky can see his eyes widening and jaw dropping in shock. The sound of his panting fills the small space of the cell, echoing loudly off the walls. 

“Too much?” asks Bucky with a worried frown.

Steve shakes his head slowly. 

Bucky smiles and does it again and again, each of Steve’s gasps and whimpers sending a little jolt of lightning-hot heat straight to his own cock. He hasn’t felt this way since _before_ ; he’s only attempted to masturbate once or twice, half-heartedly in the middle of the night after waking from a dream-memory about his past relationship with Steve. His cock had never really responded with much interest then, but now it’s standing at attention like a soldier.

Bucky gives his cock a few tugs now to take the edge off, then wraps his hand back around Steve’s, continuing to push Steve closer and closer to his limit. Vibrations shoot up his left arm as each smack jerks Steve forward, his trapped dick rubbing wetly in Bucky’s right hand, his ass turning a dark, angry red. His cock twitches in Bucky’s hand, leaking pre-cum onto the knuckles. 

“Bucky,” he gasps, taking a shuddering breath. He turns his head with effort. “Fuck me.” 

The words send a thrill all the way down Bucky’s spine. When he was able to imagine their reunion, this isn’t how he thought it’d go, but it doesn’t matter. He can’t wait to be so close to Steve that they practically meld into one. Still, he hesitates. “We don’t have any lube,” he points out. He lets go of Steve and leans back, resting his weight on his heels. His dick protests this decision with an embarrassing jump.

Steve’s chest heaves as he regains his air. His eyes drop down to the cot. Slowly, he flips around, wincing a little as he lands on his swollen ass. He folds his knees under him and rises until he’s at eye level with Bucky’s cock, which is standing proud and erect against Bucky’s belly.

His gaze is steady, and there’s a determined gleam in his eye. “Can I?” he asks, looking up. 

Bucky was going to say yes regardless of the question. “Please,” he answers.

Staring straight up at him, Steve grasps Bucky’s thighs as he slides his tongue up the underside of Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s breath escapes him in a huff. He slides his hand into Steve’s hair and pulls Steve’s head forward, and Steve inhales sharply, wrapping his lips around Bucky’s cock. He swirls his tongue along the tip, sending a jolt of heat through Bucky’s blood. Bucky clenches his core to keep himself steady as Steve works his mouth up and down. Waves of hot pleasure wash over Bucky’s body as Steve laves his cock with spit, and it isn’t long before Bucky gets close to the edge.

“Steve,” he groans, “I’m close.”

Steve pulls off, licking his red, puffy lips, and nods. Bucky’s gaze catches and stutters on those soft lips, suppressing a groan at the lingering sensation of them around his cock. Steve turns back around, resting his weight on his heels. “Come in me, Buck. I’m ready.”

Bucky’s ready too, but there’s no way he’s going to fuck Steve without giving him some kind of prep. He spits on his fingers liberally and starts to stretch Steve out, scissoring his own fingers into Steve’s hole as he brushes his metal fingers along Steve’s sac, cock, belly. The sensations are almost enough to overload his damaged mind; it feels and looks so good. His cock jerks against his belly, hot like a brand and begging to be used. 

“Buck,” Steve whines, pushing his ass back onto Bucky’s fingers, making them sink deeper. “Come on.”

“Patience, Steve,” Bucky says in a warning tone, slapping Steve’s ass. Steve jerks forward, letting out a frustrated huff, reaching for his cock as Bucky keeps fucking his fingers in and out. Bucky tsks and grabs Steve’s arm, twisting it easily behind Steve’s back, forcing Steve to arch his back and lift his head. “That’s better. Now stay still and be quiet or this’ll be over before it starts.”

Steve scowls but subsides. Bucky crooks his fingers, accidentally hitting Steve’s prostate, and Steve lets out a low groan, a shudder running through his body as pre-cum drips out of his cock. “Buck,” Steve begs, “please— _please! Fuck me!_ ”

Bucky grasps Steve’s chin, putting light pressure on Steve’s throat. “I told you to be quiet. What would your team say if they saw you begging like this? They can, you know. And you look so good doing it, you got no idea, but you need to be patient. I remember enough to know you can be good for me, can’t you?” 

Steve moans, rutting desperately into the air. That’s it: Bucky knows desperation when he sees it and he’s not keen to wait any longer either. He lightly runs his fingers once down Steve’s spine, making a soft shushing noise. Steve shudders and whines, but he does go still and quiet, almost vibrating out of his skin with the effort. Bucky quickly spits into his palm several times, lubing up his cock as much as he can before placing a steadying hand on Steve’s hip. Watching Steve’s reaction carefully, he pushes into Steve’s hole slowly, inch by inch, swallowing the groans threatening to escape from his throat. The pressure is unbearably good—so much so that he almost comes when he’s only halfway in. He takes a couple of deep breaths to get himself under control.

Steve half-sobs at the sudden pause, his eyes glittering with desperate tears. Bucky’s gut twists. He shoves his hips forward in one quick motion, swallowing a yelp as his cock is suddenly ensheathed in tight heat. No matter how he plays this, it won’t be long before he reaches orgasm. He can’t possibly last after getting to spank that sweet handful of an ass, then having that gorgeous, soft mouth on him, and now _this_. Judging by the way Steve’s cock is weeping against his belly, leaving a trail of shiny pre-cum visible even in the dim light, it won’t be long for Steve either.

“I want you to come for me, Steve,” Bucky orders, grabbing Steve’s chin again and forcing his head upward, “but only when I tell you to— _and_ without touching yourself.” He tightens his grip on Steve’s arm, still twisted behind his back, and then starts to thrust roughly, rocking Steve’s body back and forth. Steve keens into Bucky’s palm, pressing his free hand hard against the cot. His breathless whimpers get louder and higher as Bucky rolls his hips, sinking deep into Steve’s channel. 

Bucky nips at the nape of Steve’s neck, filthy words rolling off his tongue. “You like it like this, don’t you,” he whispers, “gets you all hot, doesn’t it, being forced to take a cock— _my_ cock—trying to hold yourself together when you all want is to fall apart, isn’t that right?” He pulls back, admiring Steve’s swollen ass, and angles his hips experimentally as he thrusts back in. Steve cries out, loud and sharp, voice vibrating against Bucky’s metal palm, and his chest heaves as he struggles to maintain his position. Bucky repeats the motion, aiming his hips and cock deliberately in the same spot, his own blood flushing hot as Steve lets out another yell that rings like a bell in the confined space of the cell. 

“I—” Steve gasps, Adam’s apple convulsing, “Bu—” 

Bucky thrusts again, hard and fast, and a thin, high-pitched wail rips out of Steve’s throat as he suddenly drops his weight onto his elbows, head hanging down as his cock jerks and twitches helplessly, spilling cum messily all over the blanket. Bucky grabs Steve’s hips and pulls him back up onto his cock, rolling his hips one last time before following Steve over the edge of the precipice and losing himself in the white-hot pleasure that overtakes his body. 

When Bucky surfaces, he and Steve are now lying on their sides, with Steve’s back pressed against Bucky’s chest. The blanket, folded over to hide the mess, is covering their legs and most of their feet. Steve must have done that. A tendril of warmth curls around Bucky’s heart at the thought, even as he slips out of Steve with a grimace. 

“Thank you for this, Buck,” Steve sighs, reaching for Bucky’s hand and placing it on his hip. He tucks his head under Bucky’s chin and says, “Good night,” and within ten seconds he’s asleep.

A familiar, fond exasperation washes over Bucky. He closes his eyes, trying to match his breathing to Steve’s as he reflects on what transpired tonight. It’d felt right, almost easy, to satisfy Steve like that, despite the strange circumstances they’d found themselves in. Of course he and Steve could stumble back into each other’s lives and still somehow fit perfectly. No matter what happens in the future, he’ll have the memory of Steve willingly falling apart at his hand, of Steve’s soft, warm body pressed against his own. He lets the thought carry him into a restless sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and viewing. :D Please let us know what you think. Kudos and comments are always welcome.
> 
> Author: dragongirlG - [tumblr](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/)  
> Artist: fondblondie - [twitter](https://twitter.com/fondblondie/)


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